Vampire Academy: Who is clueless?
by IHaveaVoice
Summary: Rose doesn't want to be a guardian. She sees through the inequality and abuse of the Moroi,but it's not that easy. The cruel head guardian of St. Vladimir's is hell-bent on making every dhampir child into well-disciplined guardians.
1. Chapter 1

My older sister was named after our great aunt, Camille Conta.

Unlike Camille, I knew almost nothing about our aunt, or anything about the Moroi government at that. Ask me anything about the human government and I won't disappoint. It's not as though I'm completely clueless about the world I truly belong to, I know about the blatant inequality among the Moroi and the Dhampir, though, in my situation, I've never really felt it.

Protecting the weak and vulnerable runs in our people's blood, Gregory would tell me, but I always envisioned me defending from behind a desk; something like a lawyer. That had always been my greatest ambition.

Camille always laughed for some reason whenever I'd mentioned it. Dad seemed too enthusiastic about it that I had honestly lost a bit of my own enthusiasm. My father's two guardians, Gregory and Coral, on the other hand, had very contrasting opinions; Gregory amusedly would say that at any rate I would be protecting; Coral, well, she would say some wounding things under her breath, mostly though she would just purse her lips and fall silent.

I had never met any other guardian but Gregory and Coral. And by the small bits and pieces I gathered from Dad's frequent teasing comments, they weren't exactly what the Moroi would call 'orthodox'. But they were like family to us, and never once did dad think of having them replaced.

It was earlier this day; for the first time I saw Dhampirs other than our close-knit guardians.

They were waiting, waiting for _me_.

Four guardians stood rigidly in the entrance hall; two women possibly in their late twenties, a burly redhead and a wickedly tall man with dark, silky hair, they all were clothed in intimidating black and white uniforms. In between them, obviously attempting to lighten the grim mood was dad. His coaxing grin faltered at my unexpected appearance. "Rose, aren't you—" Dad cleared his throat, he was sweating bullets. "I thought you got out of school at 3, sweetheart."

My eyes wouldn't leave the sight of the man with dark hair; he was so unnaturally tall, even for a Dhampir. "They let us out early," I cautiously said as I placed my backpack on the hall table.

One of the women raised her eyebrow. "You attend a human school, Miss Conta?"

Before I could reply, Gregory's head popped in from the opened living room door. "Rose, would you come in here for a moment?" he said. "Would you excuse us, Rust—ah, Lord Conta?"

Dad gave a furtive nod.

"Who are they?" I demanded the instant I safely shut the door behind us. "What're those guardians doing in here? Don't tell me you and Coral are getting replaced or anything—" I choked on my words as I took notice of Gregory's expression. Something new, something I never recalled seeing on his normally good-natured face: grief and sorrow; he looked older, awfully older than his thirty-eight years. "Gregory?"

He turned away from me and looked out the great, tinted windows. Weak, golden light shone through, dancing in his vicinity, softly illuminating his brown hair. Coral would still be asleep by now, as dad ought to be. Only I and sometimes Gregory lived in human schedule. "Do you remember that talk your dad Rustin gave you a few years back? About the school Camille attends nearly the whole year, St. Vladimir's?"

When he'd asked me that, a hundreds scenes came zooming before my eyes; my father had spoken to me countless about St. Vladimir's, the reasons why I couldn't go there, how different my situation would be if I did, that I was confused as to which one he was referring to. "Er," I said awkwardly, scratching the back of my head. "I think I do."

He slowly turned his head to meet my eyes. Stricken by the sudden watery glint in his eyes, I made to reach him out, but I stopped just as he moved towards me with that guardian agility, clasping my hands into his own. He bent his head down, a whisper straight to my ear, "They're here to take you, Rose."

I pulled back from him immediately, staggering backwards, giving it all not to trip and, stunned, asked in my gentlest whisper, "What?"

And right there, in the midst of my shock, as if on cue, the doors swung open with a loud _BANG!_

"Now, now, there's no need for that, Seira. The doors weren't locked."

Golden-haired Seira shot the dark, silky-haired guardian behind her a dry look.

"Rosemarie Conta," Seira took a couple of steps in my direction. I meanwhile looked desperately at my father from the wide-open doors; his expression was torn between anxiety for me and fury for the guardians. Her cold tone making her intentions clear as crystal, "You need to come with us."

I glanced from her to dad and back again. "Why? What did I do?"

"It's not nothing something you did, Miss Conta, no," said Seira. "It's more of something your father never did."

"And what's that?" I, of course, realized what it was a millisecond after I asked the question.

Something my father, Lord Rustin Conta, a close, personal advisor to the Moroi Queen, never did for me. Something he openly deprived me of.

An opportunity to become a guardian, and I couldn't be more grateful.

Like I said, we had discussed this many times. The dangers and consequences we might encounter, the public's disgust and scandalized exclamations. It is a taboo more than ever, more so within the royals; who has, after all, heard of a high-ranking royal taking his Dhampir bastard into his own Moroi family? And raising her like one would a 'normal' Moroi child, equal with his own Moroi daughter? Now, all of that would raise enough scandals to last a lifetime, and yet compared to what was to come, that seemed all tame.

My father had two sides about him: the ever loyal companion to the Drozdoz Queen, and the passionately spoken man who disagreed with all of the Queen's judgments and prejudices—that was the man I knew.

His beliefs extended towards me: The unfair treatment of Dhampirs in the hands of the Moroi.

You could say that . . . that he didn't want me to go through that.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi! Sorry it took me so long to write the new chapter..but here it is!

It might seem like Rose and Dimitri are a little, or a lot different from the Rose and Dimitri in the books. But later on they shape up to be loveable characters. H

Chapter 2.

I've always been afraid of the dark.

It was such a stupid and silly fear, and I honestly have no idea when it started. Perhaps it blossomed from the countless tales Gregory would often tell of the evil creatures of the night, the Strigoi: the bloodsucking monsters that stalk the night and prey on the innocent. His stories made me feel entirely vulnerable in the evenings, hardly able to leave the house despite my father's patient persuasions and reassurances. Of all my oddities this infuriated Camille the most. This also caused my hasty desire to live on a human's schedule. After getting past his many, many, many objections, dad allowed it.

It was easy: Gregory would escort me to school every morning, and pick me up in the afternoon, and if we had enough time before sunset, we'd sometimes chill out at the nearest mall or ice cream shop just for the hey of it. Though he never said it out loud, I was sure he enjoyed our little trips. It gave him chance to live, not just to survive for someone else's sake. He never thought of it that way, of course, just me and dad.

These guardians, I could guess very well, didn't think that way either.

Despite the light out, sheer darkness consumed the van. Tinted glass, I guess. It was a wonder how John, the redheaded guardian, could even drive in this condition. I sat in the backseat between guardian Velia and the tall, dark-haired one whose name I had yet to discover. Seira, seated shotgun, kept shooting me satisfied glances from the car-mirror. On my lap, my fingers clutched onto my dad's old, nearly empty duffel bag, its rough, bristly texture hurt my skin; it didn't matter though, maybe the pain would distract me from my reality.

They had given me almost no time to say goodbye or pack my things, as though I urgently needed to be at St. Vladimir's straight away. But no way was I leaving without a fight. So was Gregory.

John had come forth; apparently ready to drag me the instant the order slipped from Seira's mouth; just as I made to run for my room. I felt like a child sulking to the safety and comfort of my bedroom after being yelled at by her parents. But, man, were they quick.

It was the dark-haired one. The one who had joked to Seira about the doors not being locked. He slithered to my side and with a long, swift hand seized my arm painfully before I barely reached the door adjacent to our kitchen. Again, the feeling of a enraged child flooded over me. His guardian strength was nothing on me as I struggled out of his grip.

"Let go of me!" I yelled. "I'm not going with you, and you can't make me!"

"Let go of her," growled Gregory, stepping forward. Dad placed a hand over Gregory's shoulder to stop him from going further. Just what was that all about?

"Dad!" I continued shouting, with just the barest tinge of desperation in my voice. "Tell them you won't let me go. Tell them, Dad!" I glared at the guardian whose hand gripped unto mine. "Take your claws off me!"

He did. He simply released his fingers as I finished my command.

"Rosemarie," his low voice contained an accent—Russian, maybe? It was both alluring and daunting, joined especially by those dark, enthralling eyes. "Please don't make this anymore difficult than it—" He never got to finish his sentence, as guardian John barged in from behind. He took hold of my forearm, piloting me in the direction of the exit. My resistance was futile, I was well aware of it. Yet I went on tussling against him, wondering again and again why Gregory or my dad would not do a thing

Finally, I screamed. "Dad!"

"I'll call you, Rose, I promise you that," Dad's strained voice called from behind our retreating backs. "I'll—I'll visit.

"Please, please take care."

Gregory said nothing; perhaps he was as shocked and perplexed by my father's lack of action as I was. Still, hearing his voice would have given me some comfort. Coral, dad's other guardian; woken possibly by my screams, stood waiting in the entrance hall in her brown dressing gown. Her sharply featured face unnaturally lined with worry and alarm. She held in her hands dad's duffel bag, the one long since abandoned in our broom closet, where he kept all his tools and gadgets. "Coral," I whispered, sending all my livid and panicked emotions to her through one gaze.

Instead, instead, with a sudden smile, she handed me over the prickly bag and patted my hand, "Be good. And follow what Seira says."

No words could sufficiently describe what I felt towards her.

But I'll give it a try now.

_You deserting bitch. What. The. Fuck?_

It shouldn't have come as that much of a shock. She, after all, never hid her utter disapproval at me and my dad's heretical thinking. Yet after all the years we'd spent together, almost like a family, though me and Coral could never be as close as me and Gregory, you'd think she'd have lightened up. But no. for all I knew, it was Coral who possibly called these demons up to come get me.

And so, from there my settings became a complete blur. Thrown curtly into a silky black van. For the most part of the trip, daylight ensued, so no great danger from Strigoi could have come quite easily. Apart from the accented-voiced guardian, their stances relaxed.

I'd never ridden a plane before; I've never even left the city. Any other occasion and I'd have been thrilled, yet here I was, miserable as I gazed down at the cotton candy-shaped clouds hovering in the air about us.

"The trip won't take very long," a voice coming from my side said.

I stiffened as he moved closer, seating himself beside me.

Silent for a moment, he asked, "Is this your first time on a plane?"

"And why the hell would you assume that?" Bastard.

He gave no answer, and sneakily I stole a side-glance. His face was so close before me that I took a much more detailed note on his appearance. His dark hair fell in gentle fly-aways to his chin. Tall even while gracefully seated, I'd give say six-foot-seven, more or less. Authority screamed from his deep brown eyes, piercing yet in a way soothing. With those eyes he studied me, meeting my own dark ones. He was probably handsome, but you had to look beneath the surface of intimidation and resentment to see it, perhaps. And I was far from looking beneath that surface.

I turned away, facing the window once more.

I swear I heard him sigh.

"St. Vladimir's is a good school," he said in his low, accented voice. "I'm certain you will find yourself quite comfortable there after a couple of months, Rosemarie." He stood, ready to leave, when I said in an equally silent voice,

"It's Rose. Call me Rose." Slowly I turned to look at him.

The slightest ghost of a smile edged the corners of his lips. In a second it disappeared; maybe I'd just imagined it. "And you can call me Dimitri."


End file.
